


Animal Instincts

by TheStraggletag



Series: Zootopia!AU [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Predator/Prey, Zootopia!AU, furry?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStraggletag/pseuds/TheStraggletag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mandatory Rumbelle Zootopia AU featuring lion!Gold, Okapi!Belle and some super serious predatory urges of a confusing kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Animal Instincts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixTalon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTalon/gifts).



> I see this as a prompt verse. I have literally NO time for writing and a long-ass list of things to write but I could try my hand at keeping things short and sweet in this verse.

Putting on a full three-piece suit got to be a little tricky with a full set of claws but Royce Gold preferred them that way, sharp and long and barely-hidden by the pads of his hands and feet. It was a statement, like everything else, a part of the elaborate armour he donned every day. It was the same with his luxurious, if greying, mane of hair. Nowadays most lions had taken the habit of keeping it short, favouring a more modern and civilized look. Gold already had suits and his fastidious manners to separate himself from the savagery of past times, so he saw no problem in keeping his mane long and sleek, to keep as a subtle reminder. In another time, in another place, he'd have been a fierce predator.

Not that he was one of the nutjobs who advocated for a return to the ways of the wild. He liked his house, his suits, his car, his businesses. He liked practicing the law when the mood struck him, he disliked physical exercise on principle alone, and because it brought back memories from times gone by where he'd had to toil for hours a day doing menial labour to survive. Contrary to what people might think Gold's allusions to his predator status, his long claws, his luxurious mane, the glimpse of canine he was fond of giving by way of a smile, where just part of his persona, a way to make people nervous, prey and predator alike. And it worked, certainly. Even Madam Mayor was the least bit afraid of him even if she was a panther roughly his size, with manicured but long claws and powerful muscles hiding beneath her tight, modern dresses. She played down her panther status beautifully, especially with that bunny adopted son of hers to give credence to her love of all mammals. To be fair Gold suspected she'd grown rather fond of the big-eared, toothy little thing and wasn't faking her motherly concern as much as she had at the beginning.

As he thought about it he caught the eye of Sheriff Graham, ears perked up to catch any suspicious sound and tail tucked neatly between his legs to look as professional as possible. He liked the sheriff alright, had nothing against him personally, but he was rather a good piece of ammunition to use against Regina from time to time. A few feet away he caught a glimpse of Sidney Glass slithering away, either to do the mayor's bidding or attempt to engage in more serious journalism he wasn't quite sure. A little closer to his pawnshop he almost collided with whiter-than-snow Miss Blanchard, her shorn wool making her seem meeker and smaller than usual. She apologized with stammering bleats and a panicked look in her eyes, scurrying away as quickly as her shoe-clad hooves could get her. Her fleeing didn't spark any latent predatory instincts, no urge to pursue and hunt, just the usual disdain he held for most people in town.

His nose caught her scent first. It was a heady mixture of pheromones, blood and flowers. Without even noticing his mouth filled with saliva, his pupils dilating as his claws pressed against the pads of his paws, suddenly eager. Almost unwillingly he turned, following his nose till his eyes spotted her, nose stuck in a book like usual. She'd left her hair down today, in all its reddish-brown glory, its sheer volume almost covering the twin bumps just shy of her forehead. Since it was a nice spring day she was wearing a short skirt and a prim white-blouse with cap-sleeves, which gave him a perfect view of her white-striped arms and legs. Her coat looked velvety-soft, a fact for which her species was renowned, and her large eyes flickered rapidly from one end of the page to the other.

Her distraction gnawed at him. Made him want to crouch down, to approach her silently, so that she'd not notice him till it was too late. She had excellent hearing and sense of smell, which made it all the sweeter, a true challenge. So she'd inevitably notice him, the gleam of hunger in his eyes and his stance, and would surely flee, and her quickness would only incite him further. He'd pursue, inevitably, and even with his bum leg he was sure the sheer power in his muscles would give him the advantage over his stiletto-clad prey. In seconds he'd be close enough to pounce, claws itching to sink into her teasing little outfit, to shred it to pieces and sink his fangs into-

"Mr Gold, hi!"

Somehow Belle French had made it across the street and right in front of him without him noticing, too caught up in his lively little fantasy. He smiled, willing his lips to conceal his canines and his pupils to look normal.

"Good morning, Miss French."

Up close the smell of her was killing him. He shoved his cane-less hand into the pocket of his jacket, unable as he was to force his claws to retract. He felt himself fidget, the muscles of his legs brimming with energy and urges he was dead-set on ignoring.

"How are you liking A Hundred Years of Solitude?"

There was nothing about her posture that denoted fear or even nervousness. She was completely at ease with him, which only seemed to goad whatever savage impulse he was fighting further. It defied all logic, but such was the nature of Belle French. The okapi was brave to the point of foolishness, and exquisitely trusting, with a tendency to try and see the best about people. While there hadn't ever been an incident between predators and prey animals in Storybrooke- no acts of hate, or baseless accusations or even physical confrontations- not a lot of mingling between carnivores and herbivores happened in such a small town. There were some exceptions, like the friendship between Miss Blanchard and Ruby Lucas, but it wasn't the norm. Miss French, however, seemed entirely indifferent to that truth, mingling with everyone from the smallest rodents, like the local mechanic wonder Gus, to the fiercest predators, like that sly fox Will Scarlet, whose reputation was not stellar.

Maybe it was her brash, risky trustiness that made his mouth water every time he was near her. As she tried to engage him in conversation about the latest book he'd checked out someone called out to her and she looked back leaving her long, elegant neck bared at an almost-perfect angle. He could easily trap the whole width of it in-between his powerful jaws, leaving her completely and utterly helpless. His to do with as he pleased, to enjoy.

To devour.

"So, Mr Gold, did you finish it? Am I to expect you by later this afternoon?"

The safest thing to do was to say no, to tell her he hadn't had time to sit down and read lately and likely wouldn't for a while. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that. Instead what came out was:

"Yes, of course."

She rewarded his stupidity with a dazzling smile and a light, tantalizing graze of her hoof against his cane-holding paw before he bid him a good day and walked past him, giving her back to him like it was nothing. And the civilized, stylish, erudite Mr Gold, renowned for his fussy manners and his cultured persona, had to stamp down the urge to turn around and bear down on her, push her down to the floor and follow the stripes on her leg with the tip of a claw, see if they continued all the way up her skirt and...

It took one snarl for a path to be cleared directly to his shop. Once safely ensconced in it he made his way to an old, scratched wooden pillar and sunk his claws into it, willing them to stop itching. He was a creature of reasoning and education, not some lowly animal slave to his baser instincts. He was in control, it was what he'd fought for his entire life. Instincts where nothing, just a hurdle for him to conquer, a minor distraction, a mere nuisance, a-

A big fucking problem.


End file.
